


One Of Those

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, M/M, Mpreg, erotic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: “So is this it, then? Are you two finally going to make me a mum?” he asked his belly, dragging a finger up from his navel as the weak spasm skittered from his back around to the front of his belly, gripping weakly for twenty seconds before ebbing away. “It sure feels like it. Perhaps I should walk around some, see if I can get those pesky contractions to get a bit stronger.” He was considering putting on his shoes and sneaking outside when he felt something dampen the seat of his trousers. He frowned. Not his waters, surely not yet…Then the smell hit him. It smelt like his heat but different, somehow. He shifted experimentally on the sofa, back and forth a little, and he was surprised when a frisson of heat sparked up his spine and pulled a moan from his throat. Oh...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission! Thanks to the commissioner for having this idea and trusting me to bring it to life! And happy birthday! :)

“John, the light at the end of this tunnel is not getting any closer.”

 

John sighed. “It is too. It will end eventually. You won’t be stuck like this forever.”

 

“I’m beginning to doubt it,” Sherlock grumbled, huffing a shallow sigh and shifting on the sofa. “I don’t even think I’m growing anymore. I think I have reached maximum baby capacity.”

 

John snorted and put his paper down. “Trust me, you are still growing, and you have not reached maximum baby capacity. You have at least two more weeks, hopefully, before you reach maximum baby capacity. That’s the best outcome, at least.”

 

“The best outcome for who?” Sherlock asked, staring downward at a vast expanse of pale skin jutting outward from his shirt. “For them, I know, I know. It’s just.” He sighed again. “The human body may have evolved to manage twins, but my body did not.”

 

“Well, it did, but possibly not as much as other bodies did. You’re doing… _really_ well though, love, and I’m being honest.” John reached over and took Sherlock’s hand, which was dangling off the sofa limply. “It’s uncomfortable and it hurts and you’re tired of it, but you’re growing two really healthy babies and that’s no small feat.”

 

“It is a very large feat,” Sherlock agreed, tipping his chin up so he could see John, albeit sideways. “Speaking of, you should get over here and rub my very large feet. I can just _feel_ the swelling in my ankles.”

 

John chuckled and rose from his chair. He stretched for a minute, popping a few joints in his neck, and then shuffled over to the sofa and sat down, dragging Sherlock’s feet into his lap. He started just above the ankles, rubbing at the swollen skin of Sherlock’s calves, trying to release some of the edema so that as he worked his way down, the blood would have someplace to flow. Sherlock was right, to an extent - this pregnancy was taxing his system more than it would have done for the average Omega. It was understandable, though. He was a tall man, but slight of build, and John was just certain that if he’d actually submit for a blood test he was likely slightly hyperthyroid, as thin as he was. Still, he was as healthy as could be hoped for, staring down the barrel of a full-term twin pregnancy.

 

Sherlock went quiet as John worked, apparently enjoying the relief John’s expert foot rub provided. John finished off the toes of the left foot and was satisfied to see some of the swelling had gone down, the skin a little pink as blood flow rushed to areas previously blocked off. He patted Sherlock’s ankle and moved the other one into his lap, then glanced upward and stopped short.

 

There was a very unmistakeable damp patch at the front of Sherlock’s trousers, and an equally recognizable swelling pushing at the waistband. John cleared his throat a little demurely, and he could almost see Sherlock’s cheeks flush red even though his head wasn’t visible. Sherlock made a noise in his throat, almost a whine, and flung an arm in the air as if waving a white flag. “I liked you rubbing my feet before I was pregnant,” he said, his voice muffled. “Now I like you rubbing my feet _and_ it feels really good. Bugger off.”

 

“I have an alternate proposal,” John said, setting to work on Sherlock’s right ankle. “How about I rub this foot and then I bugger _you_?”

 

There was what appeared to be a full-body snort and Sherlock’s belly jumped a little with laughter. John grinned. “An amenable proposal,” Sherlock said, and John could hear the smile.

 

By the time Sherlock’s right foot was equally pink as the left, that wet patch had grown much larger and another one had started to form a few inches south of the first. Sherlock was almost squirming when John put his foot down and slid out from underneath his legs. John held out both arms for Sherlock to grab onto and then, with what had become a practiced motion, he hauled Sherlock to his feet.

 

“My feet are tingling,” Sherlock said, looking down as if to stare at them, despite the belly in the way.

 

“I’ll make everything else tingle,” John replied, scratching the side of Sherlock’s belly lightly and leading him by the hand toward the bedroom. Sherlock followed, his wide waddle evident even through the single point of contact. “What do you want, hmm?” he asked on the way, pausing just inside the door to flick on a bedside lamp.

 

“Our options are limited at the moment,” Sherlock said wryly, tugging his shirt off and motioning for John to do the same. He did, though he took the time to gaze appreciatively at Sherlock’s breasts in his bra before Sherlock unhooked it too and tossed it aside. He then took the time to gaze appreciatively at Sherlock’s breasts out of his bra. Both options were equally good.

 

“Well, our _positions_ are limited, but the options are still numerous,” John countered, helping Sherlock out of his trousers and pants before stripping off his own. “I could blow you, I could straddle you and you could blow _me,_ I could suck your tits, I could eat you out, I could finger you until you cried -“

 

“That’s more than enough of that,” Sherlock said, eyes pooled black and shifting uneasily from foot to foot. John was sure that if he bent over, he’d see Sherlock’s cock rubbing hard against the bottom of his belly, so he took mercy.

 

“Alright then, get on the bed and tell me what you want,” he said, slapping Sherlock’s arse and getting on the bed himself. He settled on his knees, leant back a little with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

Sherlock took a little more time getting up on the bed. He too settled on his knees, his belly resting round and heavy on his thighs, hands spread along both sides. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then stopped, looking unsure.

 

John smiled. “Alright, then. Let me do this for awhile and you can decide from there, okay?” he asked, shuffling across the bed and pressing himself against Sherlock’s side. He kissed him on the mouth, left hand cupping his face. Sherlock relaxed a little and submitted to the kiss, meeting John’s advances. Eventually John’s hand drifted down to brush over Sherlock’s collarbone and further south still, his forearm resting on Sherlock’s belly as he took his breast in his hand, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh. Sherlock moaned, the sound almost a whimper, into John’s mouth.

 

“I want you in me,” Sherlock breathed, his knees spreading as if in response to the thought. John nodded and helped Sherlock lie down, finally able to catch sight of his cock as he laid on his side. Just as he’d suspected, it was hard and pressed against Sherlock’s belly, the tip leaking freely. His thighs were slick with clear fluid.

 

John moved behind Sherlock and pushed two fingers inside, meeting no resistance. “You’re open,” he murmured, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder. He pushed another finger in, which stretched Sherlock a little. Sherlock pushed his hips back onto John’s fingers, and John felt more than heard his groan of pleasure.

 

“Open enough,” Sherlock said, and John got the message. He withdrew his fingers and moved up the bed. He stroked his prick a few times, transferring the natural lubricant onto it before aligning himself and pushing in. Sherlock shuddered and arched his back, encouraging John in further, further.

 

Sherlock was _tight_ inside. John should have known, did know, just hadn’t thought about it - but god, whether it was the lack of preparation or the weight and size of the babies or both, he was tighter than John could remember him being. He groaned and bit down on Sherlock’s shoulder just hard enough to leave indentations from his teeth, distracting himself from the vise grip Sherlock’s body had around his cock as he pushed in bit by bit until he was fully seated. Sherlock was already out of breath when John’s hips pressed against his arse, and John hadn’t even moved.

 

“Damn,” Sherlock breathed, fumbling for John’s hand and twining his fingers with John’s. John squeezed back and moved their joined hands down to what was left of Sherlock’s hip, holding on there for a long moment before John pulled out and rolled his hips to push back in.

 

Sherlock shivered and John felt his body relax, some of the stiffness going out of his spine as his muscles loosened. He rolled his hips again - in, out - and shifted his lower leg to get a little better angle, and to have something to push off of and get a little more force. “Alright?” John asked, checking in to make sure Sherlock was okay.

 

Sherlock was more than okay. The first time they’d had sex in weeks, his ungainly form putting him out of the mood most of the time. Now, though, with John inside him, his discomfort ebbed away, leaving only pleasure in its wake. He nodded in response to John’s inquiry and slid his hand down further, trying to reach his cock to stroke it. His bulk was in the way, and he only succeeded in brushing the very root of it and increasing his frustration.

 

John grinned, nipped Sherlock’s shoulder and pushed his hand out of the way. “Put that up here and give it some work to do,” he said, placing Sherlock’s palm flat against his breast. “I’ll take care of things down here.” His torso was shorter and so he was able to continue his thrusts and stroke Sherlock’s cock at the same time, the tugs short and fast. A whimper escaped Sherlock’s lips and he did as John instructed, rolling his nipple between thumb and forefinger and tugging at it with increasing desperation.

 

With each roll of John’s hips, heat coiled at the base of Sherlock’s spine, tight like a spring. The base of the Alpha’s cock puffed up little by little - not a knot, he couldn’t manage a knot outside of heat - but just thick enough to add a little more friction to the in-out rhythm John had set. Sherlock’s breath came quicker and a flush rose to his neck and chest as John fucked him faster and harder. His fingers tugged more roughly at his nipples, squeezing the blossomed flesh of his breasts, sensitive and tender to the touch. John’s irregular strokes of Sherlock’s cock dragged even more sensation out of his taxed body, making that spring twist even tighter.

 

“John,” Sherlock breathed, his tone almost a whine. His whole body was jerking as he tried to hold himself back, but all too quickly John was driving him to the edge.

 

“Got you, love, almost there, I’ll come when you do,” John assured, rubbing his cheek against Sherlock’s shoulder again and nodding rapidly. “Come.”

 

Sherlock gasped and his head fell back and he let himself be overcome by the pleasure of John inside him, filling him, touching him exactly the way he needed to be touched. His cock spilled against his low, full belly, painting the stretched surface with warm, sticky spend. His body rippled and tightened around John’s cock, and as his orgasm tailed off, he felt John’s cock fill just a little more and then release. He felt the warmth of it inside him and he shivered a little with aftershocks of pleasure as John gave one last halfhearted thrust and then stilled behind him.

 

Sherlock let out a long breath and went limp, rubbing his side idly as one of the babies kicked a little. “Didn’t know how much I needed that,” he said, and heard John’s high laugh behind him. “You may have introduced me to the only thing that can keep me sane until I’m no longer as big as a whale, you know. I’ll wring you dry by the time I go into labor.”

 

“Trust me, I can keep up with it,” John grinned, kissing the scar tissue over Sherlock’s bond mark. “I’m here to wait on you hand and foot, back rubs and sex included.” He shifted and pulled out, rolling off the side of the bed to grab a discarded towel and wipe them both off perfunctorily.

 

From that day until the day Sherlock went into labor, every foot rub had a happy ending.

 

————

 

When Sherlock awoke, he knew something was different. The achiness in his hips was the same, the pain in his back was the same, the general level of discomfort was the same as it had been for the past few days - but something had changed. He groaned quietly and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, trying not to wake John.

 

In the dim light, he could see his reflection in the mirror. He was nude from the waist up, as had become his norm the bigger he grew. His belly, round and overfull, sat heavy on his thighs, low and long. A dark line ran from his navel downward until it disappeared under the curve, and it echoed from his navel upward until it faded back into pale, unmarked skin. On the top of the great swell rested his breasts, the nipples dark and fat. Each breast sagged, tear-drop shaped, to either side of his belly. He looked nothing like he had nine months ago, nothing like he’d ever imagined he would look. He looked like a mother soon to be. And somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew soon was coming quickly.

 

He leant forward and pushed himself up to stand. Using the bed post to steady himself, he stretched as much as he could, the muscles in his back straining to support the weight on his front. He took a few slow, waddling steps toward the en-suite, both hands rubbing the low curve of his belly. He waited until the door was closed to turn on the light. He ran himself a glass of water from the sink and sipped it slowly, trying to figure out what had woken him in the first place. Usually it was the need to pee, but not this time - perhaps something in the flat had made a sound. He used the loo anyway, just in case, and headed out to the kitchen instead of going back to bed. Something told him he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now.

 

Sherlock made himself some toast and jam and waddled to the sofa, sitting down carefully and heaving a sigh once he was settled in. He switched the television on, volume low, and nibbled at his toast. He was about to nod off when a spasm in his lower back jerked him back awake, and he realized what had woken him in the first place.

 

“So is this it, then? Are you two finally going to make me a mum?” he asked his belly, dragging a finger up from his navel as the weak spasm skittered from his back around to the front of his belly, gripping weakly for twenty seconds before ebbing away. “It sure feels like it. Perhaps I should walk around some, see if I can get those pesky contractions to get a bit stronger.” He was considering putting on his shoes and sneaking outside when he felt something dampen the seat of his trousers. He frowned. Not his waters, surely not yet…

 

Then the smell hit him. It smelt like his heat but _different,_ somehow. He shifted experimentally on the sofa, back and forth a little, and he was surprised when a frisson of heat sparked up his spine and pulled a moan from his throat. _Oh..._

 

Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Exactly what his body needed. With a gargantuan effort he rose from the couch and left his toast there, heading back toward the bedroom where John still slept. Not for long.

 

Sherlock pushed his sleep trousers down and off his wide hips and climbed back onto the bed, bypassing his side and tossing the covers back. He straddled John’s hips, startling the Alpha into a muzzy awake state, and started to move as much as his laden body would allow. “What’s going on?” a bleary John mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and peering up in the darkness, trying to figure out what Sherlock was doing.

 

Sherlock’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he was already out of breath, but the pleasure he was getting from grinding himself against John was the best he’d felt in ages. He breathed out John’s name shakily, the barest of grins on his face, needy and aroused. So he was one of _those,_ he thought.

 

John seemed to catch on just after his cock did. The hardness was pressing up against the crotch of his sleep trousers when his eyes went wide and he locked gazes with Sherlock. “It’s time?” he asked, the dots connecting. Sherlock nodded and kept moving, pushing down against the hard line of John’s cock. “You’re one of _those,_ ” John breathed, and Sherlock nodded again.

 

John barely kept himself from letting out a whoop. “Fuck yes,” he said, reaching under Sherlock’s gravid belly and shoving his pants down to his thighs and kicking them off. His cock sprang up upon its release as if seeking Sherlock’s hole. John hardly had to guide it to the loose, ready entrance to Sherlock’s body and then they were joined, Sherlock shivering and moaning. John let him move as he needed to, let him use his cock. His motions were less up and down and more forward and back, the depth of penetration less important than the pleasure of being filled.

 

Sherlock bit his lip and picked up his speed, grinding on John’s cock. “If this feels this good, I c-can’t imagine how good -“ He stopped, gasping, and John was about to ask what was wrong when he felt Sherlock’s body stiffen and contract around him. To his surprise, a moment later he felt warmth paint his stomach. Sherlock had just come from a _contraction._

 

“Oh god,” Sherlock breathed, slumping forward a little when the simultaneous contraction and orgasm ended. John found his hand and helped support him, still trying to process what had just happened. He’d never seen something like that before. Had never heard of it either.

 

“Are you…okay?” John asked, and his face broke into a grin when Sherlock laughed. “I think you’re going to have a really good time with this, if that was any indication.”

 

Sherlock nodded and moved, throwing his leg back over John’s thighs and letting John’s cock slide out, still hard. He eyed it hungrily. “Fuck me,” he said, his gaze raking up John’s body. “Fast and hard, until you come. And then I’m setting new rules.”

 

John saw the fire in Sherlock’s eyes and nodded eagerly. He got Sherlock to grip onto the headboard with both hands and entered him from behind. It didn’t take long for John to get the right rhythm and angle, and then all it took was another contraction of Sherlock’s body to have John coming with a grunt and a shudder. When he finished, he pulled out of Sherlock’s body and wiped them both clean, and then sat cross-legged on the bed. “So. New rules?” he asked.

 

“You can touch me from the waist up. Nothing below,” Sherlock said, drawing an imaginary line above his groin and hips going the whole way around. “And I want the mirror at the foot of the bed so we can watch.” If he was going to have a pleasurable birth, he was going to get as much out of it as he could.

 

John nodded and glanced across at the mirror. “So I’ll be behind you?” he asked, imagining himself propping up a laboring Sherlock and watching their babies being born.

 

“If that’s what’s most comfortable, yes,” Sherlock said, rolling onto his side. “That part we will have to play by ear, so to speak.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose, pushing a hand through his thick hair. “I want a shower,” he proclaimed at last. “It might feel good but I’m still stiff and sore. And standing up will move things along.” He held out his arms for John, and the alpha pulled him upright and helped him off the bed.

 

The shower did help. The hot water slid over Sherlock’s skin and soothed his taxed muscles, easing some of the strain. The contractions came incrementally faster, rolling through his middle and holding him tight in their grasp, but instead of intense pain, pleasure coiled at the base of his spine, like the precursor to a drawn-out orgasm.

 

It built bit by bit, the pleasure increasing through each contraction, until at last his water broke and trickled from his body and pulled an orgasm with it. Sherlock was braced against the tiles of the shower as his body tensed of its own accord, pulsing with pleasure and pain and leaving him slumped boneless as cool water ran down his back. John was hard in his pants watching it all happen, and rinsed Sherlock clean with shaking hands.

 

The water was running cold now, and the contractions were strong and regular and close together. Sherlock was rosy-cheeked and looking well-fucked, rubbing his belly intently as he turned the shower off. His legs were trembling a little and he gave John a shaky laugh as he stepped carefully out of the shower. “It’s very good,” he said, rubbing the lower part of his belly and barely suppressing a shiver.

 

“It looks like it’s very good,” John agreed, helping towel his mate off and guiding him across the slippery floor back to their bedroom. He didn’t bother to hide his own arousal, shamelessly adjusting his erection as he watched his gravid partner waddle toward the bed. “Do you want me to do an exam, just to make sure everything is progressing alright?” he offered.

 

“Rules said no touching below the waist,” Sherlock said, settling onto the bed and rubbing against it almost imperceptibly, his eyelids fluttering. “Things are fine. Ooh. I can tell. It’ll be soon. Come here.”

 

John did as he was told, sliding onto the bed propped up by pillows. Sherlock moved into position between John’s legs, framing his body between John’s strong thighs. The mirror was lined up just so, and their reflections stared back at them. Sherlock was pink from the belly up, looking frayed from too much pleasure. A red flush sat high on his cheeks, a sight which John had only ever seen at the peak of Sherlock’s heats when he was drunk on orgasms. He kissed one hot cheek and Sherlock squirmed both away from and into the touch. John did not miss the hand that sneaked up and pinched one fat nipple and the little whimper that followed.

 

From where John sat, with Sherlock between his legs, he could see Sherlock’s belly draw up with each contraction - at least, he could see it for as long as Sherlock stayed still before he started to writhe. John was unutterably glad that he was writhing in pleasure and not in pain - he hadn’t even imagined that Sherlock would be one of the few omegas that experienced pleasurable births, but now that the reality was squirming between his legs he was delighted.

 

Sherlock-in-the-mirror bit his lip and let out a little whimper, snatching John’s attention back. Something had changed. Sherlock pried an eye open and met John’s gaze, drawing in a hitching breath. “I need to push,” he said, shivering like even the words were turning him on.

 

“Alright,” John said, shifting a little and sliding his arms under Sherlock’s. He put one hand on Sherlock’s full belly and the other on his breast, thumbing over a nipple and drawing another gasp from the dark-haired man. “Do what your body tells you to do.”

 

Sherlock did. When the next contraction came, he gave a little push, as if trying to figure out how much effort he needed to put in. As John watched the man twisted his head and made a choked noise, and he sought out John’s hand to hold. John let him move as he needed, but was unsurprised when Sherlock guided his hand back to his breast and rubbed roughly over his peaked nipple. “Keep doing that,” he said, and John did.

 

With John’s hands where Sherlock wanted them, the omega bore down with another contraction. He felt the first baby’s body move, keenly aware of exactly where the baby was. Its head moved through the open muscle of his cervix and started pressing downward, outward, stretching Sherlock wide as he pushed. He inhaled sharply through his nose and stopped pushing as the contraction petered out. “It feels like…a knot,” he said, opening his eyes and looking up at John. “Like a huge…huge knot. Moving down.” He exhaled as a full-body shiver ran from his neck all the way down to his toes.

 

John plucked at Sherlock’s nipple, earning a little whine and halfhearted jerk of Sherlock’s hips. “Good,” he murmured, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head. “Keep going, then.”

 

Sherlock nodded and waited for another contraction to build. He started to push as it reached his peak, pushing harder this time, and was rewarded with an onslaught of pleasure that made his vision go black at the edges. He cried out roughly and kept pushing, his toes curling. His cock was rock hard again and pressing against the base of his belly, but he didn’t need it touched. The feeling of the baby’s body moving down, stretching him as it emerged, was better than any touch he could have anywhere on his body. Even John’s fingers on his nipples, which was usually enough to have him writhing, was a dull echo in the background.

 

Without pain to inhibit his pushes, Sherlock bore down eagerly and for as long as he could with each contraction. His breathing was heavy and sweat beaded on his forehead. He pried his eyes open when he heard John make a noise and his gaze shifted to the reflection in the mirror. To his surprise he saw a dark head opening him wide, their baby’s head emerging already.

 

As he saw it, the sensation registered. The burning of his hole being stretched so far was even more pleasurable than Sherlock could have expected, even as part of an erotic birth. It had the undertone of a deep itch being scratched and satisfied, but closer to the surface it felt exquisite - exactly like it felt to have John’s knot stuffed in him, stretching him wide and filling him, but magnified. Amplified. Unutterably better.

 

With a slick rush and a feeling of release, the baby’s head emerged, dark and blunt in the vee of Sherlock’s legs. In the shadow of his belly, Sherlock couldn’t see much, but he fumbled a hand free and reached beneath himself to feel. The baby’s neck was free of any cord, and the merest brush of Sherlock’s finger against his stretched opening had him groaning throatily. He pushed again, eager now to deliver their first child and to meet the fruits of his labor.

 

The push had the baby’s body rotating inside him, the shoulders twisting to line up better with the opening of his pelvis. The twisting brought a pleasure unlike any Sherlock had ever felt before, and as the baby shifted once more and the shoulders emerged fully, the omega let out a howl and went rigid in John’s arms, rocked by his orgasm. The force of the contractions pushed the baby out the rest of the way. Sherlock’s ears were ringing and his sight was cloudy but he reached beneath his low, fleshy belly and picked up their firstborn child, holding it to his chest.

 

Behind him, John was in awe. He’d watched in the mirror as Sherlock’s body, powerful beyond measure, delivered their first child and brought Sherlock to orgasm simultaneously. Now, their child was squalling in Sherlock’s arms, purple and slick with dark hair and puffy cheeks. She - _she_ \- had her fists balled up and was wailing loudly. “Hey there, you,” John said, his voice tearful as he reached out to touch her face.

 

“Sweet girl,” Sherlock murmured, his tremors quieting as the last vestiges of orgasm ebbed away. “Beautiful girl, lovely girl. Hello, hello.” He brushed a finger over her cheek and smiled down at her, a bead of sweat dripping from his nose onto the newborn’s chest. Her cries quieted little by little, finally becoming occasional whimpers.

 

“Let me go get my bag,” John said quietly, dropping a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder over his bond bite. “Cut the cord and clean her up. Just a mo.” He moved out from behind Sherlock as carefully as he could, trying not to shift Sherlock around. He returned a few moments later with his bag and some towels, setting the bag down at the foot of the bed and rooting around for clamps and a pair of scissors. He clamped her umbilical cord as it stopped pulsing and made a precise cut to sever it, and just like that she was her own human being.

 

“She’s big,” Sherlock said, dragging a towel from the small stack and wrapping her up in it. “Bigger than I thought she would be.” The baby made a small noise when he shifted her to swaddle her, but quieted again as she was wrapped up in the warm towel.

 

“She’s a good size for a twin,” John agreed. “Now let’s see about that sibling of hers, shall we?” He moved back onto the bed, situating himself behind Sherlock once more.

 

Sherlock nodded and sniffed a little, shifting. “I think I want to be on my side for this one,” he said, laying the baby down on the bed. “I want her to be right in front of me. I want to hold her while I give birth,” he said, feeling a small contraction roll through his lower back and belly, telling him that it was time once more.

 

With John’s help he moved to lie on his side, and John moved in kind to lie behind him. Their daughter was pulled to Sherlock’s chest, Sherlock lending her his warmth and taking comfort from the closeness of their firstborn. It took only a few minutes for strong contractions to come again, and though this time the pleasure was more muted, it was still there.

 

Sherlock pushed with the contraction when it started, but the progress this time was slower. “This one’s bigger,” he said roughly, and that combined with his flagging strength concerned him. His brow furrowed and his eyes were closed as he bore down, hitching one leg up and grabbing behind his thigh for leverage.

 

The baby’s body moved inside him, past the ring of his cervix and down the canal. The pleasure built again as he was stretched wide, but this time it was unrelenting - because the progress was so slow, the pleasure started to grate at him until it was almost unbearable. He was shaking with tension and strain, and the head seemed lodged inside him, not moving forward, but not moving back, either.

 

He was about to give up and switch positions when John shifted behind him, leaning up over his body. He opened his eyes and watched as John drew their firstborn closer to Sherlock’s chest, moving her and guiding her head until her lips brushed the tip of Sherlock’s fat nipple. “This might help,” he said, holding his hand under her head until she rooted forward, instinctually, and wrapped her lips around Sherlock’s nipple.

 

Almost immediately, his milk let down, and he felt a surge of hormones course through his veins. The pleasure from the second baby’s position ratcheted up and so did the strength of his contractions, all culminating in a hard push that had Sherlock’s toes curling again as the baby’s head came to crown. The first baby’s sucks were hard, drawing colostrum from Sherlock’s breast, and she nursed hungrily, her little grunts drowned out by the noises Sherlock made as he worked to deliver.

 

Crowning felt the same as it did last time - that deep itch being scratched, but like being stretched wide from a massive knot. This baby’s head was bigger, and for several minutes Sherlock strained, gasping, trying to shove it out. He could hardly keep still, rocking his hips desperately, doing everything he knew how to deliver the baby. He reached out and gathered the baby close to his chest, still letting her nurse. John reached over and rubbed Sherlock’s other nipple, and Sherlock gasped and jerked and finally the second baby’s head emerged fully, the weight of it hot against Sherlock’s thigh.

 

“God,” he rasped, roaching his back and pushing again. The contractions didn’t seem to stop now, his body clearly eager to see the last of this pregnancy, and before he could contemplate what was happening, the second baby’s body slid from his own and came to rest on the mattress. John moved quickly, scooping the baby up and bringing it to rest halfway on top of their firstborn. Sherlock’s hold fumbled a little but he was able to figure out how to hold both of them at once, cradled against his chest. In the back of his mind he realized he hadn’t come again, but he didn’t think he’d have been able to if he’d tried. His body was too exhausted to manage all of the strain and pleasure again.

 

“Another girl, love,” John’s voice said, close to Sherlock’s ear. “You did it. You made two beautiful, perfect daughters.” He moved, and Sherlock felt the shifting of the cord and the snick of the scissors as it was cut, and then John wrapped the second one in another towel and started to clean Sherlock off a little.

 

Sherlock felt frayed raw, but with both his babies in his arms at last, he was more content than he’d been in months. He crooned quietly to his daughters, taking a damp cloth from John to clean them off a little to last until John bathed them both. Alena, their firstborn, was dark-haired and had John’s nose. Sian, their second daughter, had John’s blond hair and John’s thin lips. Both girls were healthy and hale, Alena at six and a half pounds and Sian at a robust seven. Within an hour Sherlock had delivered both placentas and John had changed the sheets. As the midafternoon sun shone in through the tall window, Sherlock, Sian and Alena slept, and John kept watch over his family.


End file.
